These Tears We Cry
by MushrooomsPTook
Summary: Frodo overhears Gollum reflecting upon his previous life when he was a hobbit. ::I am discontinuing this story for the time being::
1. A Secret Unleashed

Frodo couldn't sleep. He had tried many a time throughout the night, but, even as his eyes were heavy and his body exhausted from the day's journey, sleep would not come. He knew why. He was thinking about what was lying ahead, what his fate was. Gandalf had fallen, the Fellowship had parted, and here he was with Sam, alone in the bitter cold night, with no concept of what was to come. For they were yet so far from Mount Doom, but the weight of the Ring was growing heavy by the days.

Frodo clutched the Ring within his grasp. Here it was in his small hand and yet it overpowered him and the temptation was growing ever so much that Frodo began to wonder if he would survive the journey after all. Would it kill him before the end? What would become of Sam? The Fellowship? Middle-Earth? It all depended upon him and if he were to fail, then the world would fall.

Frodo closed his eyes and opened his palm, revealing the Ring. The hobbit opened his eyes again and saw the Ring as though it were grinning deviously at him, daring him to slip it onto his finger and be done with it. How much Frodo had wanted to. It was only too easy.

But suddenly, Frodo forgot about the Ring as his mind diverted itself to the reckless noise his little hobbit ears took in. It was a hideous noise indeed, a gasping and gurgling sound, and it almost frightened the young hobbit to the point of wanting to wake up Sam. But just as he was about to do so, Frodo stopped and listened. The sound had new twist to it. It was hissing and it was then that Frodo realized that the wretched creature, Gollum, was awake. He was weeping.

"Ssmé agol…" he hissed in between fits of tears. "Ssméagol. That's what he called us, he did. Ssméagol. Poor, poor Ssméagol. _Gollum! Gollum!_" Gollum's hisses turned into pitiful sobs and he cradled himself back and forth, soothing himself. "He called us our name, Precious, and we think of what Ssméagol was like. Can't remember, Precious. Can't remember at all."

Frodo lay still before shrugging and turning on his side. He closed his eyes and suddenly found that Gollum's howls had died. There was a long silence after that and Frodo began to wonder if Gollum had fallen asleep. He sure would be thankful if he had. But then he heard Gollum's hissing voice fall to a whisper, loud enough that he could hear:

"We remember…Liiila…"

Frodo opened his eyes again and lifted his head slightly. Who was Lila? Curiosity tugged on Frodo's mind and he listened carefully.

"Yes, yes, Precious. She tried to tell us, she did. But we didn't listen, did we? No, Precious. And when we did, it was too late, yes, too late. Too late to turn back." Gollum began whimpering again and his voice weakened. "And we lied to her… We lied and she found out when…when…"

Frodo suddenly realized something. Gollum at one time or another had experienced love. What tragic event that happened during Gollum's previously life, Frodo was curious about. As it turned out, he would soon know the truth.


	2. Trouble

"Psst. Hi! Is that you, Sméagol?"

There came a rustle from within the big green bush and Déagol had a good idea that it was his friend. But he still didn't know for sure. He held up his lantern a little higher and waited for a response.

"Undoubtedly," the voice responded. "I don't know who else it could be."

Déagol rolled his eyes and made a wave of his hand.

"Well, come out where I can see you!"

There came yet another rustle in the bush and the form of a child stepped out from within. Being a hobbit, he was about three and a half feet tall and wore clothes that brought out his hazel eyes and light, curly hair. His shirt was red and he wore a dark vest on top. His britches were a dark green and they still had dirt on them from traveling in the woods. His skin was a pale color and it made his features seem less agreeable with the rest of himself. Self image was still an issue for this hobbit lad, no matter how he felt on the inside. On the outside, Sméagol was not the best looking of hobbits.

"There. That's better then?" asked Sméagol, with an edge of annoyance in his voice. "And perhaps you won't abandon me again this time."

"All right, all right," Déagol replied to his younger companion. "Are you hurt?"

"I don't appear to be. How long do you think we've been out here?"

"Too long, to be sure."

Déagol suddenly realized that there was little light that surrounded them. He lowered his lantern and found Sméagol's lantern broken.

"I see your light went out," he said.

"It broke when I tumbled over on the other side of the hill, there."

Déagol's forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.

"However did you find your way back?"

"I saw your light up ahead. I don't think I was that far behind."

Déagol grinned at Sméagol. Though he would be coming of age in just a few months, he still acted as though he were helpless. Someway or another, Déagol thought he would get along by himself just all right.

"Well, come on then," said Déagol. "We can't be that far from home. And at any rate, I'll be glad to get back and away from here. Those filthy hobbit lads have chased us almost as far as I am willing to go."

Déagol started to turn when Sméagol grabbed his arm.

"Déagol," he said. "Do you think my gramma will be upset?"

"O' course not, Sméagol. Just as long as you don't tell her."

With that, Déagol started walking ahead, forcing Sméagol to follow the light that showed him the way home.

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The morning was quiet and came peacefully the 15th of Solmath, 2462. But it came almost too quickly for the hobbit, Sméagol. He had gotten home only three hours before sunrise and to avoid making a loud entrance, Sméagol had climbed a tree that stood right next to his hobbit hole and slept there through the night. It was not the first time he had done this, as he took to it kindly, and the night had not been chilly. For Yule had passed over a month ago and the flowers were starting to pop out again. Sméagol was glad it passed as quick as it did, for the commotion and the excitement made him anxious and he did not get along with his distant relatives very well. Having Déagol with him was enough to satisfy the little hobbit.

And now here he was sleeping in the tree, dreaming of new beginnings and adventures.

Of course, all that was forced out of his mind when he heard a loud, sharp voice enter his ears…

"_Sméagol Stoor_!"

Sméagol suddenly jumped at the high-pitched shriek and nearly lost his balance off the tree. Once he saw who was staring up at him, his cheeks turned red with fear and humility.

"Oh," he said sheepishly. "Hullo, Gramma."

"Get down here this very instant!" shouted Sméagol's grandma.

Sméagol nervously tried to find his footing and clambered down the tree in a reckless manner. When he got to solid ground, his grandmother quickly put her hands on her hips. But the sudden move caused Sméagol to think she was about to beat him and he hid behind the trunk of the tree.

"Where have you been!"

Sméagol stuttered, trying to find the words he would use to explain last night's situation. "I--I was…"

"Speak up, boy!"

Sméagol's bottom lip trembled. He knew he was in for it and there was no way out this time, so he started weeping profusely.

"I'm sorry, Gramma! I didn't mean to. It's just Déagol and I were--we went to--I'm sorry! Please don't hate me, Gramma."

"Oh, rubbish, boy. Come now, stop this sulking behavior. I don't hate you. I tend to get angry at you, but it's for your own good, you know. If I didn't have a mind to raise and scold you, then I might neglect you, but I don't. So let's just forget about it and get you cleaned up. I expect you must be hungry, too."

"Does this mean you're not mad at me?"

The old woman looked at the hobbit with suspicious eyes.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I'm disappointed and you will receive punishment, but later after the celebration tonight."

Sméagol stopped walking and looked up at his grandmother.

"Celebration?"

"Why, yes," she replied. "For your dear Déagol's birthday. He is coming of age tomorrow."

"How silly of me to forget such an important event!" cried Sméagol. "And I haven't gotten him a thing! Oh, what am I to do, Gramma? Tell me, please."

By now, his grandmother had helped him out of his clothes and was starting to fill the family washbasin up with warm water.

"Well, now, Sméagol. That's a decision for you alone to make. You're his friend. You know what he likes. But keep in mind that I don't think Déagol expects anything from you, aside from your companionship. Now, into the basin."

Sméagol sighed and reluctantly stepped into the basin and sat down so his grandma could begin washing him.

"Why do I have to have a bath, Gramma?" he asked in disgust.

His grandma laughed in a gruffly but kind manner, and Sméagol realized that she was not as cross as he thought her to be, if she could laugh so freely.

"So you can be freshly clean for the party tomorrow. Getting a bath gets rid of dirt and little things that stick to your body."

As she said this last statement, she pulled out a leaf from Sméagol's light brown hair and tossed it away from the basin.

"Well, I don't like it," Sméagol grumbled, and folded his arms across his chest rebelliously.

"You should be glad of one, so stop grumbling. You've not much of a choice anyway."

Sméagol glared at the now dirty water and pulled his white knees up to his chest.

"I hate baths," he muttered yet again.

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Note-Many thanks to the people who reviewed the first chapter. I'm actually flattered, as I wasn't expected to get too many reviews at all! So thanks. This is my first story so please be patient with me. ;-) I also have a lot going right now so it might take me a while to write new chapters. I also am planning this one step at a time.

One thing I will tell you is that next chapter will introduce a couple new characters, as it is Déagol's birthday. Yay!


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